The Pairing Games
by dreamingpickle
Summary: After 73 years of violence, suffering and death, the Hunger Games ended. On the 74th year of Panem, a plague infected more than half of the country's already small population. The high number of deceased people put a strain on everything that Panem was built on. The future of Panem now depended on the citizens ability to produce thriving offspring. So the Pairing Games were created
1. Chapter 1 - Compatible

**Chapter 1**

After 73 years of violence, suffering and death, the Hunger Games ended. It wasn't that the Capitol had tired of their favorite piece of entertainment or that the districts had been punished enough. On the 74th year of Panem, a plague infected more than half of the country's already small population. The high number of deceased people put a strain on everything that Panem was built on. The districts could not function and produce like they used to, and so the Capitol could not receive the amount of products that they were used to. To the dismay of President Coriolanus Snow every life, wether district- or Capitol born, was now equally important and paramount for the survival of the country. Panem's future depended on every single citizen and their ability to produce thriving offspring that could survive along with Panem. And so it was decreed that the Hunger Games was no more and in its place a new, different and bigger game would exist. A game that involved every single district-born citizen. A game that, unlike the Hunger Games, had no victor and instead of death and violence being the result, a baby would be born. The new game had no name for there was no one who'd broadcast it to the wealthy Capitol citizens, but it existed. And though the death of children on live television was a thing of the past, this game controlled the districts all the same.

Love had been a choice before. Now it was no longer. Wether one would have children or not had been a choice before but now, it was required of every eligible man and woman to have at least one. And only with the person that the Pairing authority had chosen. Every woman and man of ages 16 to 35 will be paired up with the person that they are the most genetically compatible with. If an individual's genetics aren't compatible with anyone else, this person is deemed Unpairable. An Unpairable individual is sterilized, and is never allowed to marry. This is because the regime only wants strong, healthy citizens. By cutting out the weak, sick and deformed, they cut the cost of the Districts. Less money to the districts, more money to the Capitol.

When President Snow had broadcasted this, I had not know what to do. How to react. Shocked would be an understatement. After a horrible year of continuous death, with more than half of our district infected, the Hunger Games had not really been on my mind. It usually stays at the back of my mind, together with Prim getting picked for it. But this year I had seen more people suffer and die than ever before. Gale's mother, the ever so lovely Hazelle, and his brother Vick had been two of the first to die. It had broken Gale's heart and though it has been almost a year since the sickness first appeared, he has not spoken to anyone other than me and my family, Rory and Posy. I understand him though. Had it been Prim I would've never recovered. But she was lucky, as was I and my mother. A few others that I care about or know of had been okay as well. The mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee had survived and so had Peeta Mellark and part of his family. His witch of a mother survived but his father did not. The baker was the most kind person I have ever met and I felt incredibly sorry for Peeta when they carried his father's fabric covered body to the burning pit. Life had never seemed more unfair than in that moment. Though it made me happy that Peeta survived because I had not yet repaid him for when he saved my life all those years ago, I had to fight my own tears when I watched Peeta spill his at the burning.

That was another, if not the worst thing about the plague. When a person died, the corpse of that person was supposed to be burned to prevent the disease from spreading further. It was horrible to watch when family after family dragged their dead father, mother, sibling or friend to the pit in the meadow. I helped Gale with his mother and brother. We carried their covered bodies for what seemed like eternity, though it was only minutes. District twelve's signature coal dust managed to impregnate the white fabric that covered them, even in that short time. When we stood by the side of the pit and watched them burn, Gale cried. That is the only time I have seen him do so.

The plague wasn't wiped out, but it seemed that those of us who'd survived it were immune, and I presume that it is from this that the regime got their idea. Why spend endless amounts of money on vaccines, treatments and drugs when you could just breed a new, genetically superior population?

A week before when the Reaping was supposed be, the President's speech was broadcasted. He looked as snakelike as always, his green eyes seemingly boring into mine through the screen. I remember how the gaze gave me uncomfortable goosebumps. Snow told everyone of the end of an era, as he called the cancellation of the Hunger Games, and the start of a new one. A new beginning he had called it. I still snort when I think about it. A beginning of a new era of a different kind of oppression. We may not be sent into an arena and forced to kill each other anymore but now we're baby making machines, forced to have sex with a stranger to breed genetically perfect babies. I had always promised myself that I would never get married or have children. Now it seems that both of those things are happening and are out of my power. Though I suppose I'll never have to worry about them ending up in the Hunger Games.

The days after the broadcast we were all forced to go through multiple medical checks and take a lot of tests, testing everything from personality to IQ. The Pairing authority then used this to find compatible matches for everyone. Primarily in the district that a person was born in, but if no one in their own district is a match, they'ed search every other district until they found one. And if they do not, that person will de deemed Unpairable. A superficial part of me wished for me to be deemed unpairable just so I'd be able to hold onto my life long principles. Just so I can keep some small part of me in a world where no one is allowed to be free.

There is no ceremony like the Reaping, when a person is Paired. There will be an official wedding date for everyone at the end of summer though. This year being the first year of this new _arrangement_ makes the number of new pairings marginally bigger than it will be every year after this one. After this year, only sixteen year olds will be paired. I can't help but to think of all the already married couples whose licenses will be revoked. A selfish part of me is thankful that I am not one of them.

Not everyone receives their pairing notice at the same time either. I only become aware of this as Gale receives a white, Panem stamped letter, telling him that they have found his match. It's Madge Undersee. In that instant I am aware that I should be jealous. If I were ever to marry voluntarily I always assumed it would be to him. Everyone did. But I feel nothing but happiness for my two friends because I somehow know that they will be okey. Madge is quiet like me, but she is also kind and will be good to Gale. It could be a lot worse, I think uncharacteristically optimistically. After the year Gale has had he deserves some ounce of happiness. All I know for certain is that I am happy that Gale is allowed to stay in Twelve. A small part of me hopes that life can stay the same, or even become better then before. If he stays, and I stay, and there is no Hunger Games to be worried about then maybe life could actually be good.

My optimistic way of thought is short-lived though, as I notice that more and more of the people in my district receives official letters of their new partner. I have yet to receive mine and as more and more time passes, I start to regret my earlier thoughts of wanting to be Unpaired. As each day without a letter passes a treacherous part of me grows more and more anxious. And when the Peacekeepers arrive at my doorstep to escort me to the medical center, that treacherous part of me cries.

The medical center in Twelve leaves a lot to wish for. The walls in the waiting rooms are covered with a grey, flaky paint that in some places, is stained with questionable substances. As the rare sun outside shines through the lone window and onto a specific spot on the wall opposite of me, I try not to imagine every time an injured coal miner has splatted blood on the wall from an untreatable wound. I try not to imagine the screams of despair as the wife has had to watch her husband die in the waiting room, before he's even allowed to see the only doctor in the district. Most of all I try not to think or hear the very real wailings of the Unpaired woman on the other side of the torn wooden door. It is not screams of physical pain yet it sounds more painful than any sound a wounded coal miner has ever made as he lay dying on my mother's kitchen table. I shudder and try stop – but cannot help – the tears that escapes my swollen eyes. Katniss Everdeen is not a woman that cries, I think to myself. But all I do is weep. I weep until the cries on the other side of the door stops and I weep after.

When the Peacekeeper by the only escape route out of here motions for me to enter the chamber of horror, I do so silently, with drying, stinging tears on my cheeks. They've left a salty trail down my cheeks that itches the more it dries down.

The doctor is a Captiol citizen with periwinkle hair and a smooth face. She looks at me impassively as the Peacekeeper motions for me to enter the room, before closing the door forcefully. My gaze quickly scans the room and I see another Peacekeeper with a helmet that reveals nothing, standing motionlessly by the window. I stare at him, or hopefully her, as I realize that the guard will stay inside the room during the procedure. As if this wasn't already bad enough. The urge to cry some more hits me but this time I manage to force it down.

"Please sit down on the chair in the middle." The doctor says to me without even looking up from the pad in her hand, and with her Capitol accent very prominent. I stare at the chair she's referring to. I have seen one before in the books at school but the very thought of sitting in one makes me nauseous. Still, I do as she says.

"You have to take you pants and underwear off." She looks at me pointedly, and as if I am stupid, when I sit on the chair with my legs up, pants still on. Flushed, either from embarrassment or anger, I quickly stand up and takes off both pieces of clothing before hurriedly sitting on the chair again. She hands me a thin sheet of paper to cover my lap with, for which I am thankful. She starts off by asking me questions about my habits, when I last had my menstruation, when the last time I had sex was and if I've ever had an abortion. The last two questions I answer with a crimson face, this time undoubtedly from embarrassment. When she's done and starts prepping the instruments, I wish she would ask me more. I am not ready. Pressing my nails into the palms of my hands, I focus on that pain rather than the mental as I fear what is about to happen. Then her phone rings.

I am not aware for how long I sit there, staring out the window as the doctor speaks quietly through the phone. I have since long abandoned the effort to try and hear her what she's saying, instead watching the birds outside the window. They're mockingjays but they sing no song. They simply fly back and forth outside, as if mocking me with their freedom. This waiting is more torture any procedure ever could be.

As the sun that shined fiercely through the dirty window earlier is covered by grey clouds, the doctor hangs up. I expect her to return to her earlier pursuit of prepping the surgery but she doesn't. I stare at her questioningly, my grey eyes boring into hers.

"It seems that this is your lucky day, Ms. Everdeen." She says, but her face is as impassive as always. "They've found you a compatible match."


	2. Chapter 2 - Stay alive

**Chapter 2**

At first, I feel nothing but relief. I blame the biological part of me. It would go against everything evolutionary not to react the way I did when I was in the situation I was. Losing the ability to have children, and against my will at that, goes against the very fundamental thing that makes up a person. I convince myself this because it is easier to argue like this rather than accept the alternative that would mean that I actually want children. I have never allowed myself to think like this before, and it's a scaring thought.

"Wh- I don't understand what's happening." I say because that is the truth. One minute I was Unpairable and on my way to get sterilized. Now, just seconds before the blue haired doctor was about to destroy the very thing that makes me a woman, they've found me a match. My heart sinks in my chest, like an anchor of lead tossed into the ocean, as I think of this. There is no way that my new partner is from District 12, I realize. It wouldn't have taken them this long to find him if he was. The relief I felt earlier dies down and is replaced by a suffocating dread.

The doctor looks at me with an unreadable expression, almost to the point where I could've figured her emotions out easier if she had worn a mask like the Peacekeeper does. "It seems that there was an," She stops, considering her next words carefully,"..._incident_ which left a paired female unable to consummate with her partner. This leaves a male that is genetically compatible to you unpaired, which is why he'll pair with you." I can't help but wonder why I wasn't paired with him from the beginning but as I am about to ask her, the Peacekeeper in the room motions for me to stand up. I do so hastily, totally forgetting about my state of undress. My face flushes red immediately as I scramble for my white underwear and tan pants. My toe gets stuck in a hole on my knee and in my hurry to pull them up, I rip the fabric even more. I curse under my breath as I finally manage to get my pants on, and is not given even a momentarily pause to catch my breath as the Peacekeeper grabs my arm and leads me out of the room. I see two other women outside the doctor's chamber of horror and shudder at what is about to happen to them. I doubt there will be any timely matches for them.

The Peacekeeper does not answer me when I ask it where I'm going, but my heart gets stuck in my throat as I hear the train whistle in the distant. The only time a train arrives in Twelve is when a new squad of Peacekeepers arrive. It used to arrive a train on Reaping day, but that is supposedly history now.

I begin to panic as we approach the station. I am not ready for this. I haven't even said goodbye to my family. They weren't home when the guards came knocking on my door and must be out of their minds worried by now. The white clad figure beside me tighten its grip on my arm as I struggle.

"Stop." It's a female voice. At least they had the decency to position a female guard in the doctor's office. I don't stop. I am nothing if not persistent.

"My family. I need to see them." I say through gritted teeth, eyes blazing furiously. The wind is growing colder by the minute, as the sky becomes gradually darker. The coldness brings painful goosebumps to my arms, but the chills does nothing to stop the fire within me. I need to see my family. I know I have no choice when it comes to leaving, knowing that the Capitol will hurt them if I resist, but I need to say goodbye.

The Peacekeeper says nothing, only drags me onto the platform, where I can see a train approach in the distant. Suddenly I hear a familiar voice.

"Katniss!" I turn just as the short blonde hugs me forcefully.

"Prim." I say hoarsely, tears threatening to spill. She looks up at me with mothers blue eyes, questioningly. Behind her I see mother, standing unsurely by a torn bench. If one could even call it that anymore. It looks more like a pile of splintered wood.

"Katniss what is happening?" Prim asks me. She looks worried and as if she knows that nothing good is coming. I look away from her gaze.

"I have to go. They've found me a match." I say. She starts to cry immediately and I struggle not to join her.

"Where?"

"I don't know." I tell her truthfully. My mother looks at me with a painful gaze from behind Prim. I haven't truly forgiven her for when she abandoned us all those years ago, but in this moment I only see the mother that I will miss. The mother that existed when my father was alive.

"You cannot leave her again." My voice is a force, knocking down everything in its path. "She can't survive without you. You need to be strong for her." She looks at me with ashamed eyes. I know that she is sorry, and maybe I do forgive her in this moment, but I need to know that she'll be there for Prim when I cannot. They'll have to survive off mother's healing alone, and maybe with some help from Gale. My best friend. I hurts me that he isn't here but he probably doesn't even know that I'm leaving. It's painful. The whole situation is. I don't want to leave, but a small part of me is thankful that they didn't sterilize me. Still, it hurts; more than anything ever has. Knowing that life in Twelve will continue onward without me makes my heart ache.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the modern train approach the station and panic fills me. I pull Prim to me, crushing her in the tightest hug possible. I try to remember her, every detail of her. This most likely the last time I will ever see her.

"Katniss, please don't go." She says through her tears. I push my own tears down, forcing myself to be strong for her.

"I have to, little duck." My voice wavers at her nickname. She grips me tighter but is forced to let go as the train stops at the station and the Peacekeeper drags me onboard. It's a smart move, I wouldn't have come otherwise.

My heart breaks when the door closes behind me and I watch Prim cry outside the window. I try to make eye contact with her but the guard forces me to continue inside the train. I gasp at the interior. Colors I didn't even know existed stains the furniture of the train cart and it's more luxurious than anything I have ever seen before. Dark walls, blue circular chairs and a table filled with food. The Peacekeeper does not have to force me any further, I continue forward on my own, stroking the blue chairs as I do. They feel incredibly soft. I'm about to sit down but the Peacekeeper stops me.

"Not here." Is all she says and I look up at her questioningly but continue forward all the same. We enter a hallway with two doors. I see signs on them and at first I cannot see what they say as someone has tried to scratch the text off the golden surface. They haven't succeeded though as I can tell what it says once I try.

_Female Tribute, D12_.

I feel sick. Though I should've know. This train is far to fancy to be anything but a deceiving product of the Captiol, made to fool the former tributes that the Capitol is nice and 'forgiving'.

I plant my gaze on the maroon carpet beneath me. I do not want to see anymore of this train. I don't want to be enthralled by it's beauty. Once we enter the second, or maybe third, cart a stench of alcohol immediately hits me, so forceful I almost topple over. Once I look up from the floor I understand why. Inside sits the sole Victor of District 12. Haymitch Abernathy. His drunken state is what defines him other than his statues as a Victor so once I recognize him I am not surprised to see him drunk. I am surprised that he is here at all though.

"Sweetheart, how nice of you to join me." He says and I frown at the nickname. He snickers as he pours himself another drink. The stench makes me gag.

"Not like I had a choice." I say. His eyes widen for a millisecond before he recovers and take a sip from his glass.

"Feisty." Is all he says. After a while he motions at the blue chair opposite of him. "Well, are you going to stand there the whole journey or are you going to sit down?" He asks. When I make no move towards the chair, nor say anything, he continues. "Suit yourself. It's a long way to District 2."

"District 2?" Is that were I'm going? To a career district? Pictures of men built like statues, with swords in their hands and malicious grins on their faces fills my mind. I shudder. The tributes from Two was always the worst, the most brutal. They killed for fun, for the games. Citizens of District know how to play the game and so they are the most favored district by the Capitol. The Capitol lapdogs.

"Yes. Isn't that the dream Sweetheart? You're going to be career!" He laughs loudly at his own words, as if he just said the most amazing joke ever. I glare at him. Obviously I know that I'm not going to be a career in the literal sense but I feel sick all the same. There is not any place I could think of worse than District 2. Well maybe the Capitol but it is impossible to end up there since they don't have to participate in this new ordeal.

My mind fills with anxious thoughts of my future. Surely the man I am paired to will be like the monsters on the television. I cannot imagine touching such a creature, any less have children with one. At the thought of children, an image of my future children fighting dummies with swords hits me like a powerful punch from a career. The air in my lungs gets stuck momentarily and I feel dizzy. I sit down on the chair Haymitch motioned to earlier. He must see my panicked expression because for a moment he looks at me with clear eyes, no trace of alcohol in them.

"Just do what you're told. Try to fit in. Two is nothing like Twelve and you need to realize that right now." He says. I stare at him and try to comprehend his words. I have only seen one part of District two and that is their white marble Justice Building on the television when there used to be Reapings or when the tribute from Two won. It looked more expensive than the whole of District Twelve together. Nothing like the concrete Justice Building in our district.

"I can't fit in. I am not a coldblooded murderer like them. I did not celebrate nor enjoy the Games." Haymitch's grey eyes stare at me harshly. They seem angered, or maybe scared, by my words. I am about to continue but he stops me.

"Listen, Katniss," My name sounds strange coming out if his mouth. "You cannot talk that way, ever. You're on your way to the most Capitol-loyal district out of them all and if you speak that way once you're there, they will have you hung for treason." He runs a hand through his greasy hair. "Hell, you cannot even speak like this in front of your future husband. Not if you want to live."

I stare at him in silence, not fully comprehending my situation. Of course I know that every sentence uttered against the Capitol and our regime is an act of treason but no one in Twelve ever cared. Not even the Peacekeepers.

"Outside of Twelve, the walls have eyes. Never forget that." Haymitch adds before breaking his gaze to look outside the window of the moving train. I couldn't even tell it was moving.

"What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act?" My questions are quiet and uncharacteristically vulnerable. I have a hard time looking at the drunk man in front of me as I ask it.

He simply stares at me for a long time, silently regarding me and judging me. After an eternity he speaks. "Don't act like yourself. Do the opposite of what Katniss Everdeen would do in every situation. Twelve is very different from Two and what is honorable here is frowned upon there." I swallow audibly. The thought, simply the thought, of having to live somewhere for the rest of my existence as someone other than myself is painful. It makes every nerve in my body sting in emotional agony. "To put it simply, stay alive." Haymitch adds sarcastically to which I simply answer with a glare. I have neither the will nor the strength to answer with words right now.

The rest of the journey I only gaze out the window as Haymitch drinks opposite of me. I have many questions, like why I wasn't paired to my partner earlier and why Haymitch is here at all. But I am to tired to ask any of them, or maybe I don't want to hear the answer. Still, a rebellious part of me asks them just as the first flakes of snow hits the window of the train.

"Since there are no more games, the job of mentoring the tributes is history. Of course the Capitol can't have their Victors doing nothing so one of our new jobs is to escort future brides and grooms to their new happy homes." The sarcasm is dripping from his mouth as he answers my two questions.

"The Capitol wants the citizens of the poorer districts to stay there, and in your case you and a girl from One was equally compatible to a boy from Two. Though the girl from One had one other pairing that she was compatible with, she was chosen to pair with the boy from Two. They'd rather have pairs from elite districts only match with each other." This angers me, and it confuses me. If they're doing this to repopulate the country, shouldn't they do just that? By reasoning the way they do, they'll end up making a lot of fertile people Unpairable and unable to contribute simply because of something like where one is born. "Of course the Pairing between One and Two never happened and now, here we are."

"Why?" I cannot help but ask, though I doubt I want to hear the answer. The gaze he give me confirms it even before he says it.

"She killed herself."

"Wh-" I choke on my words. He seems to understand what I'm trying to say though.

"No one knows. The report only said that she jumped in front of a moving car the same day of their pairing." The sudden urge to puke hits me and I have to grip the chair tightly to force the urge to stay an urge. I do not want to meet my future partner. It seems like I've been paired to a monster. I can't help but to imagine a brutal man with sharpened teeth (like an earlier Victor) and bloodied fists. Horrible pictures float inside my head and I shudder. I'm off to a great start, I think bitterly. Afraid of my new partner before I've even met him. I know I shouldn't judge before I've even seen him but I cannot help it. His original partner killed herself, so I am allowed to feel frightened.

The stray snowflakes outside becomes many, until I am able to see nothing but white through the window. I get up from my chair and walk towards it, pressing both of my palms towards the surface. It's a cold, but welcome chill. As I stand here the train starts to slow down and as it does, my heart picks up its pace. Haymitch comes to stand next to me but he doesn't speak until we can see the train station in the distant. Even from this distance and even through the snow, I can still see that it is more extravagant than anything I have ever seen in real life. I imagine the inside of the station to even more beautiful than the interior of this train.

"Just stay alive Sweetheart." Haymitch finally says as the train comes to a halt. My gaze breaks from the white marble building accented in gold outside, and onto the torn man besides me. I stare at him in horror, but then I school my face into my usual impassive farce. Nodding once, I start walking the way I came with the same Peacekeeper as earlier hack on my heels. I see no one outside the window as I head for the exit and it's first when I step outside that I realize why. It's freezing. Not just because I'm not wearing a jacket (thanks to the hurry of the awful guard behind me). It is truly the coldest weather I've ever experienced. I immediately hate this place.

The Peacekeeper cares nothing of my rattling teeth and painful goosebumps, she only pushes me forward. I almost stumble as I'm forced inside the station and I would've turned and glared at her had it not been because I was right earlier when I made the assumption that this station would be glamours. White, spotless floors and walls cover the surface. Golden chandeliers casts a warm light over the room that reflects in the shiny floors. But even though the light is warm I can't help but to feel as if the hall is...cold. There is something about this building that sends as much chills up my spine as the weather outside. My attention soon shifts though, as my gaze falls on the suit clad man leaning against one of the marble pillars. He looks up right as I notice him and my breath hitches in my throat. As much as I hate to admit it, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Never before have I thought of any man that way, but that is truly the only way to describe him. Sure, I've seen Gale when he swims in the lake back home and Peeta when he carries heavy sacks of flour halfway across town. Gale is handsome, and Peeta is pretty but neither holds a candle to the man I'm heading towards now. His face is perfectly chiseled with a strong jaw and nose, and with icy blue eyes that are watching me equally coldly. I suddenly feel self-conscious by his gaze. The way he's looking at me makes me feel unworthy, so for reasons that are unfathomable to the strong Katniss of District 12, I avert my gaze back to the floor. I tell myself that I am only following Haymitch's advise. _Stay alive_.

"Well?" His voice is deep and exactly everything one would expect coming form someone that looks like him. I look back up at him questioningly. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" I frown at the condescending tone he has, but do not comment. _Stay alive._

"Don't you already know my name from the letter?" I assume he got one, even though I didn't. I presume he had the time for one to arrive, unlike me. His gaze is unreadable as he regards me. Then he shrugs uncaringly, as if to say: "I don't really care."

"Katniss Everdeen, sixteen years. From the very slums of Panem." He says the last bit with a sneer on his luscious lips. My frown grows.

"Still better than being from a Career district." I say before I can stop myself. I want to clamp my hand on my mouth as soon as the words spill from my lips. They came before I could stop them. As if they were spoken by instinct. My frightened eyes travel to meet his gaze and it's a struggle to keep it there. His eyes are on fire. My body's instinctual reaction to this seems to be to put my chin out and raise my head higher. What happened to stay alive?

"To bad you're a citizen of one now then." He, this man whose name I have yet to learn, sneers before he turns his attention to the guard behind me. "We're good here." He tells her with an authority I envy. I'm about to tell him that she won't listen, but I never have the time to since she's already walking away. My gaze stares questioningly at the handsome man in front of me. Why would she listen to him?

If he understands my silent question, he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead he simply turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction from which I arrived. My marginally shorter legs than his struggle to keep up with his pace and I almost have to run which makes me walk straight into his broad back when he stops suddenly. He casts me an, what I can only describe as incredibly irritated, stare. I shrug back, as if to say: "Not my fault."

"Don't you have a jacket?" He asks me condescendingly as we're about to step outside. I roll my eyes but regret it when I see his angry stare. I mentally slap myself. _What happened to stay alive?_

"Of course I have one, back ho-," I say but stop. _Home_. I was going to say home. "Back in Twelve." My pride does not allow for me to meet his mocking stare as I correct myself.

"And you didn't think of bringing it with you to the coldest District in Panem?" He laughs mockingly. "Are you both poor and stupid?" Fire blaze in my orbits as he insults me. This man that I've known for barely ten minutes is already treating me like dirt under his shoe, and I am supposed to be his future wife. I can't help but to think of the girl from One, and one small part of me understands her. Though I would never kill myself because my survival instinct is so high, I know that a life with this man won't be happy.

"You know nothing about me. You have known me for what, ten minutes? And you already insult me." Not one part of my being cares if I anger him right now. To hell with Haymitch's advise. I'll never subject to this kind of treatment, even if it'll mean the end of me. "You have absolutely no knowledge of who I am, or of what I've lived through." My voice cracks on the last word but I pay no mind, far to angry at this blonde man in front of me to care if I embarrass myself.

"And I have no will to either." His voice is smug, like he enjoys my frustration. He probably does. He strikes me as the kind of person that enjoys other people's suffering.

"No, of course you don't. To you I'm nothing more than a breeding machine to impregnate and be done with, right?" He looks a me with disgust, his eyes traveling up and down my body several times.

"I wish you weren't even that." What happens next seems to move in slow motion. My hand reaches up to slap him before I've even had the chance to think the thought. The palm of my hand never connects with his face though. Instead I feel his fingers incircle my wrist in a stone grip. His eyes are blazing as much as the touch of his hand on my wrist is. I can't describe the feeling because it is unlike anything I've felt before. Painful, yet electric. When I meet his eyes though, I wish I hadn't.

Whatever the fuck happened to stay alive?


	3. Chapter 3 - Drowning

**Chapter 3 - Drowning**

It's as if time stands still. No sounds can be heard, not even the forceful, panicked pace of my heart. He stares at me with more anger than anyone ever has and every part of my being shudders. His grip on my wrist tightens for a second, something dangerous flashing in his gaze as it does. Then suddenly, he lets me go in a haste. I stare at him quizzically, for sure thinking he'd hit me. It is common knowledge after all, that women in career districts are treated as the properties of their men. Unlike poorer districts where all anyone can think about is food, people in the richer districts can afford to spend time on other things. They can afford to live according to social norms that lesser districts lacks. One of these norms happens to be that a wife is the property of her husband. At least in the way they're treated.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His voice is barely above a whisper yet I react to it as if he had shouted. For a fraction of a second I think about apologizing but then I remember the reason for wanting to hit him in the first place, so I remain silent.

When he notices that I won't answer he simply continues towards the exit. It takes me a few seconds to follow, partly because of the fact that his impossibly long legs carries him over the marble floor with twice the speed that it takes me.

He doesn't seem to care when I shudder as we step outside. Neither does he seem to care about all the stares we're getting from the people outside the station. They look at him, and glare at me. It is painfully obvious that I don't belong here and they all see it. Their impeccable, expensive winter clothes are a stark contrast against my torn pants, full of holes, and dirty shirt. The fact that I'm not even wearing a jacket is not making things less obvious.

"Stop shuddering. It's annoying, and you'll probably break all of your teeth with all of that rattling." He says obnoxiously.

"It would've been easier to stop if it hadn't been so damn cold here." I snap back. He's wearing a suit and a coat that looks warm and probably cost more than my entire house back in Twelve. "If you wore my clothes, you'd be shuttering too."

He snorts. "No I wouldn't. I'm used to much colder than this. I'm not weak like you coal rats." His voice is venom, and it stings. I am aware that he says it to hurt me and that I shouldn't care, but I do. This is the man I'll spend the rest of my life with and this is how he treats me before he even knows me. It hurts like hell. But I am not someone that surrenders and I am definitely not weak.

"I am not weak. You've probably not gone without food for a day in you life, whereas it is unusual for me eat three days in a row. You've never had to eat rotten food or watch you little sister almost starve to death while you mother does nothing. You've never had to risk your life for a little piece of bread." I know I should stop but I don't. I could just keep quiet but I don't. "You've never had to consider selling yourself to an man forty years your senior for a few coins that won't last even two days. You've never had to do any of that, and lived to tell the tale. So don't tell me that I'm weak, because that's the last thing I am."

He's silent for a long time after that. The only sound audible is the crunching of our footsteps as we walk on the snowy ground. Then he does something unexpected. He turns around and I flinch, thinking that now, he'll hit me.

"Relax, I'm only giving you my coat." He says flatly, and he does. The sudden warmth on my shoulders is to comfortable for me to even care that it's his coat. The coat is black, and made of the thickest and softest material I've ever felt. It can't possibly be wool, it's to soft to be. I stare up at him questioningly but his gaze tells me not to mention it. And I don't, not wanting to risk him taking it back.

After that we walk in silence which leaves me to take in my surroundings. Everything is white, even under the blankets of snow that cover almost ever surface, everything is white. White marble, and shining, clean windows. The roads are paved and I see several cars parked. I only know what one is because of the few times the reporters of the Capitol visit District Twelve. All of the buildings in this District seems to be very tall. I have to strain my neck to see the top of some of them. Though I notice that the farther we get from the city center, the lower the buildings get. These also look a little less expensive. That's not to say that they aren't more fancy than anything I've ever seen in Twelve.

This man, my new partner, leads me to a car. It's white. I don't know how else to describe it since I know nothing about them. Embarrassingly not even how to open the door. My future husband huffs as he has to do it for me, while mumbling something about poor people.

I grip the leather seat when he drives away, which earns me a chuckle from the man besides me. I can't tell if it's mockingly or not.

The outside passes in a blur, and because of how amazed I am at the vehicle I'm in, I almost don't notice when we slow down in front of the biggest house I've ever seen. It looks like the Presidents mansion, only not as colorful. I'm in ave. When he parks the care on the driveway I stare at him questioningly.

"What are we doing here?" I ask him confused. He stares at me, the first time ever with real amusement in his blue eyes.

"I live here." He says and laughs at my dumbstruck expression.

"Alone?" Surely that cannot be the case. This place could easily house more than half of the Seam back home. He must share it with someone.

"No," He says and I nod. At least I was right about that. "You live here too." I'm dumbstruck. I must look like a gaping fish, opening and closing my mouth several times.

"Wha- how? What about your family?" I ask. He shrugs casually, as if this house isn't the most extravagant thing I've ever seen.

"They live further away from town. I bought this when I turned eighteen." My lips are open in a surprise 'O'. How is it possible for anyone his age to own a house like this, even if that person happens to be from a district like this? As if he hears my thoughts, he answers my question before I've even asked it.

"My family manages and overseas the entire Peacekeeping unit. We answer directly to Snow." He looks proud when he says it, but I feel nothing but fear ripple through me at the thought of how close I've suddenly come to the very core of Panem. There is a sudden lump in my throat that I can't seem to shake no mattet how much I try.

"That's...impressive." I say, no wanting to offend him. And it is impressive, and immensely terrifying. He doesn't seem to notice my forced compliment, he only steps out of the car and starts towards the house. It takes me a while to figure out how to open the door, so I have to run to catch up with him. It's only when we enter his – or I should say ours but it really isn't – mansion that I realize that all of these extravagant furniture is his and that I have nothing of my own to contribute with. I realize now, though I should've much sooner, that I have nothing to bring but myself. No personal belongings, no clothes and nothing to do. This realization makes me stop mid-step. I don't move and this man whose name I don't even know, don't notice for several moments. He is halfway down the black, white and gold marble entrance hall before he acknowledges that I've stopped. Something on my face must stop him from making another snide comment for he says nothing for a long, horrible moment.

"What are you doing?" He asks me finally and I know I should answer but my voice is gone. It's stuck somewhere in my juglar. "Did you hear me?" He moves towards me quickly and looks angry but I don't really register. "You should be perfectly aware of one thing, I don't accept disobedience and a rude attitude for no reason. Stop ignoring me."

"I have nothing." I say quietly, but I don't say it because he ordered me to answer him. In fact, I don't even expect him to hear me. "I own nothing, I have nothing with me but myself. Not even clothes. I don't belong here."

He stares at me. I can tell even though I'm not looking at him. Instead my gaze keeps flickering over the black and white marble floor. It looks like one of those games, I think it's called chess. I'm not sure, I've only seen it in a schoolbook once.

"No, you don't." His voice is not filled with sympathy. From the little I've gathered of him, I didn't expect any. Still, it's harsh. "But you're here and you're not going anywhere so you'll just have to adapt." He's right, I know he is. It doesn't break my concentrated gaze on the floor though.

"Stop looking at the floor like some submissive bitch." I flinch. I am not submissive, not in the least. But I am on unknown territory and I know from experience that unknown territory often means dangerous territory. I meet his gaze harshly, eyes burning. He looks pleased but angry still. It's a strange expression.

"I am not weak or submissive."

"Then stop acting like it." What I say next, I didn't plan on.

"I thought you men in District Two preferred their wives quiet and submissive. Accept their beatings, cook them dinner and spread their legs whenever you want them to." It's quiet. I'm able to hear the noise of the town, something I'm not used to. Then he smirks. I wonder if he ever smiles. I can't imagine he does.

"I don't." At first I think he'll leave it at that. When he doesn't, I wish he had. "Though I wouldn't complain if you'd spread you legs when I told you too."

My face is red, a deep crimson and it burns hotter than the sun. When I remain embarrassingly silent, he adds: "You know we'll have to eventually." His voice is surprisingly kind.

"I know." Is all I say and thankfully he leaves it there. There is no way I could possibly forget what we'll have to do. Even though this man is by no means unattractive, I still dread the moment when it'll have to happen. It's not as far away as I'd like too. According to Panem laws, all marriage must be consummated on the first night. This means we'll have to consummate on the official wedding date, later this month. I swallow loudly.

After our...eventful conversation, I follow him silently through the impressive house. He shows me all sorts of rooms that I had no idea existed. A room that I found particularly unnecessary was the pool table room. It's just a dark room with a fire place, brown leather chairs and something called a pool table. He has many of these. Unnecessary rooms that is. A library, and other rooms made for 'entertainment'. It's a strange concept for me, having lived in a house smaller than his kitchen for my entire life. The room that spikes my interest is not the gigantic closet he says is for me, or the enormous bathroom. It's the room furthest to the right in his house, with double doors of steel and an impressive lock on both. When I ask him about it, he tells me it's the training room.

"I was supposed to volunteer for the games this year, but as we both know that never happened." His voice is bitter. I recoil as if slapped. Of course he's one of those. The typical lapdogs to the Capitol. I look at him with distaste though I smack myself internally for not realizing it sooner. He is massive, towering over me and made of pure muscle. I doubt even one part of him is made of fat. Had he been in the games, he'd be the stuff of nightmares. I have no doubt about it.

When I ask him if I can go inside, his answer is prompt: "No." Is all I get. No explanation why. I huff disappointedly. This is the only room in the house that intrigues me. Especially now that I'm not allowed to see it.

"Why were you going to volunteer?" His blue eyes looks at me as if I'm from another world when I ask him this. "You obviously don't need the money." I gesture to our surroundings as if it strengthens my statement.

"It's an honor competing in the games, and a glory to win them." He says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. For a moment, I consider telling him what I'm thinking. I don't though. There is no honor in killing children but I cannot say this to him. Not here. Haymitch told me explicitly not to.

"Okey." I say. He looks irritated at my response.

"Is that all you hav to say?" He asks. I shrug.

"I don't agree with you, nor do I understand it. I have nothing to say." My voice is flat. I tried to make my words as diplomatic as possible.

"Of course you don't. You come from a district that never wins. District 12 sends children to their deaths. Unlike us, you don't try to make the best out of the situation. That's why we hate you some much, you know? The way you people have walked seventy-three years without even trying to prepare yourselves even a little. And how no one ever volunteers for the children, those who are twelve? That's pathetic. Those children are better of dying in the Games, because then at least they won't have to live in that poor thing you call a District with people that don't even care enough about them to help them." With eyes blazing, the words that falls from his lips are horrible. Some part of me thinks what he says makes sense, but it doesn't lessen the harshness of how he says it and it definitely doesn't make the nonphysical punch of his words any less painful since it is very clear that he means every word.

"How can you say something so horrible?" I want to scream but my voice is too shocked to produce any anger. "You are sick."

My back is against the wall in less then a second. I feel his hand around my throat and I expect it to tighten, slowly, 'til I'll feel the blanket of suffocation encircle my mind. Gradually I expect my vision to disappear and become a darkness that I won't escape from. I imagine how it'll feel to drown above water. They say that death by drowning is the least painful. I wonder if that is also true when the body isn't emerged in water. I wait but nothing happens. I stare at him mockingly, tempting him to do it. He doesn't.

"You make it very hard not to hurt you." His voice is only slightly above a whisper and it fans over my face by his closeness. Without my hunter ears I doubt I'd hear it though. He leans in further, until I can feel his lips on my ear. "Very, very hard."

"So why don't you? Did it not work with the last one?" I know I've taken it too far when he pushes me away so I fall to the stone cold floor with him towering above me. I should've never had said it but he overstepped first. Still, I am not him.

He grabs me by my collar slowly. "You know nothing. If you ever speak to me like that again, I swear to you, I'll make your life hell." Then he lets me go as if I'm the most disgusting thing he's ever touched. I probably am.

My pride keeps me from apologizing. I reason with myself that he doesn't deserve it anyways. He hasn't answered my question with to me is answer enough. From now on, I vow to keep myself as far away from him as possible. The mere though of him touching me in the future drains the blood in my face and makes my mouth water with saliva, as if I'll vomit any second.

"You'll sleep in the guest bedroom until I deem it appropriate for you to do otherwise." _Do otherwise_.Sleep besides him he means. I'll never find it appropriate to do so.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." I say defiantly. It seems be instinctual to say things that upset him. I do it again and again even though I know I shouldn't if I value my life. I'm not sure I do though.

He never comments on it but I can tell he wants to. The way his fingers twitch when he looks at me tells me he's itching for my throat. His perfectly pale hand never comes for it though. He simply walks past me and into a new room. After I've gotten up from the hard floor, by legs and bottom cold from it's lack of warmth, I'm informed that this is where I'll sleep. The room is beautiful, but less ornate than the other rooms in this house. I immediately like it. Its walls are a raw beige. It looks like the color of bones. The furnish is black and wooden, with gold details. A big window overlooking a beautiful and gigantic garden makes me like it even more. If I could sleep here for the rest if my days, I'd be content. Alas, I don't think it'll be the case. I think about that a lot when I go to bed that same night after he's left. Where to I do not know and do not care as long as he stays away from me.

My mind keeps tormenting me with pictures of me under him, while he touches me on places I've not even touched myself. I see pictures of him and me, and a blonde baby between us. My thoughts are filled with images of our child standing proudly, sword in his hand and a dead child with the number '12' on her clothes under him. I know it won't happen, the Hunger Games are over, but I cry all the same. I'll have sex with a monster, and I'll give birth to a monster. I close my wet eyes, silently wishing he had just tightened his grip on my throat a little.


	4. Chapter 4 - Blood running cold

I always wake to early rays of the sun, while the birds have just started to sing. Usually it's the mockingjays. This is the first morning since I can remember where I don't wake up at that hour, or because of those circumstances. When I awaken this morning, it's because a stranger comes in to my room and opens the curtains, revealing the painful light of noon. After letting my eyes painfully adjust to the sudden brightness, I carefully watch the strange girl in front of me. She's wearing a white tunic and red pants. Her head is in a bun at the back of her head and with exception of her crimson lips, her entire face is white.

"Who are you?" She doesn't answer. I ask her again. She doesn't answer. Someone else does.

"She doesn't talk. No tongue." It's him. He's leaning against the doorway, and makes a cutting gesture towards is own tongue when he says it. I eye him wearily, not forgetting about yesterday.

"Why?"

"She's an avox. A traitor that was punished by having her tongue cut out. Now she works here." He says it so casually, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. It isn't though. Not for me. It's horrible. I know I can't say that though. I tear my eyes from the girl and look at him instead.

"What are you doing here?" I ask it as if I am entitled to be left alone when in reality I am not. I am nothing here, completely at his mercy. I despise it. Makes me feel weak.

"You have no clothes, and know nothing about this district and the way we live. I thought I'd show you around and buy you something other than those rags you're wearing." What he means is a nice gesture, but the way he says it make it paradoxical. He insults me, but is doing something quite nice for me. Though I suppose making me wear something other than this is a way for him not to be embarrassed every time I'm besides him. At least as little as possible. Me being from District 12 is an embarrassment he'll never escape.

"What if I like the clothes I'm wearing." I say defiantly. He rolls his eyes.

"Doesn't really matter. You stick out like a sore thumb here with those clothes, especially around these neighborhoods. If there is one thing you need to learn, it's that everyone here looks up to those who live like us. We are at the top of the food chain, and you look like you belong below bottom." He says this like it's a mantra, taught to him when he was very young. I can imagine it is. Only in a district like this would they consider social status one of the more trivial things in life.

"You'll notice that being with me brings a lot of onlookers. You should try to fit in. Besides, I won't let you borrow my jacket anymore and you noticed yourself how cold it was yesterday." He continues obnoxiously. Though he has a point. That last bit convince me. It felt as if I would freeze to death yesterday.

"Fine." I say but I want to take it back as soon as the words falls from my lips. He looks far to pleased.

I realize when we arrive after having driven for far shorter than I wished, why he looked so pleased when I agreed. He must really love when I suffer.

We're inside a fancy store, where everything looks more expensive than what several years of hunting ever could bring me. It's not that, that is the part I react to though. It's the fact that the store is filled with people like him that all stare at me with disgusted expression. Instinctively, I make a move towards the exit but he grabs a hold of my arm discreetly. His lips almost touch my ear when he says: "Oh no you don't."

My gaze falls upon his face which is in a contented mask. He looks like an entirely different person. I stare at him in disgust but does as he says and move inside the store instead. My steps are hesitant and my gaze moves with insecurity over the clothes and people inside the fancy establishment. Almost all of them are blonde, with their heads held high and clothes like the ones in this store on their bodies. I try to picture myself in the matching pink skirt and blazer that one of the older ladies that are sneering at me is wearing but I can't. The mere thought is laughable. Still, I try to find something desperately so I'll be able to leave here faster.

"Where are the pants?" I ask him quietly but I doubt it's quiet enough. The store is silent enough that one could here a pin drop.

"I'll tell you after you pick out a few of these first." He says, gesturing to the skirts and dresses that hangs on either side of me. I look at him with a futile expression but he does not seem to care. Quickly, I grab the nearest black thing I see.

"Hmm, are you sure that's you size?" His voice is mocking. "You look like you'll need a smaller one. Not shocking with where you come from I suppose." He says and grabs another version of the garment I choose. I am far to shocked by his words to even react. I wonder why he's so mean, though one small part of me argues that I deserve it after what I said yesterday. Though the majority of me does not agree.

"Can you show me where the pants are now?" When he says nothing, only looks at me with amusement in his gaze I swallow my pride. "Please."

"This way." He says with a smirk playing on his lips. I ignore him when I see rows and rows of pants. Though none of them are what I would've chosen, I pick out a few pairs in different kinds of blue, made of a thick cotton like material. I have no idea how they look on since I don't try them, but they seem comfortable. At some point a sales lady comes and asks if we'd like the matching blazers and shirts to the pants. I say no but the man behind me says yes and she only seems to listen to him.

Soon, we're paying for piles of clothes I'd never wear, with the exception of the black coat that is an female version of the one my partner is wearing. I had absolutely no objections when he choose that one. It was much worse when I had to buy underwear with him looming over my shoulder. To get out of the situation quickly, I let the sales lady choose for me. I have no doubt I'll regret that later. When we, or he I should say, pays, he does so by swiping a card stamped with the Panem seal. I have never seen anyone pay like that before and can't help but stare. At the bottom of the card I can barely decipher two words.

"Cato Stone."

His name. It's as cold as the rest of him. Fitting for a district like this. Though when I look at him and think of his name, something warm moves up my spine. I shake off the uncomfortable feeling immediately.

Neither him or I carry the clothes to the care. Two persons from the store carry them for us, and puts them in the back of his car.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He says when we drive away. I can tell he is amused though. I think about not answering but not wanting to anger him further, I do anyways.

"You're really mean for absolutely no reason." I say. He snorts.

"If I remember correctly, you said some pretty nasty things yesterday." He retorts. I avert my gaze. I know I should apologize but my pride stops me.

"Yeah..." Is all I say.

When we return 'home', he tells me to change and meet him back at the car in an hour. Then, after two avoxes have emptied the car of clothes, he drives away.

I utilize the shower as soon as I get inside the bathroom. From yesterday, I've managed to gather what buttons not to press if I want glitter dumped all over my body. Still, when I exit the stall I smell of an unfamiliar scent and sparkle a little. My hair is smooth though, and falls freely down my back. I tie it in my signature braid immediately, not liking how it, along with my new periwinkle pants and blazer, makes me look like an entirely different person.

We bought no new shoes which makes my entire outfit look ridiculous. My black boots is a stark contrast to my expensive clothes. It's a slap in the face. Just another reminder of I stick out as much as sore thumb. I'm a bird, drowning among the fishes in the ocean. No amount of fancy clothes will change that. I don't think I want to change. My hair is dark, and my skin olive. My physical attributes are the prime example of a District Twelve citizen. Though I am thin, my body is hardened by muscle from years of illegal hunting. I don't want to change that. How I look reminds me of who I am. A strong woman that bends to the will of no one. My way of thinking may make me more of an outcast than I already am but maybe that'll be worth it. In the end, many years from now, I'll at least die as myself. I think like this as I view myself in the big mirror leaning on one of the walls. My fingers move to my braid. The thing that defines me as much as my personality. Taking it of would be a paramount change to my appearance and ultimately to my person. The elastic band tying this braid together also ties me to my home district.

As I cast one last glance at my reflection before heading out, my fingers touch the band absentmindedly. This is me, I think repeatedly. Yet when I walk outside, I find myself untying the elastic.

* * *

"Why are we here?" It's the first thing I say after an entirely too long car ride. We're outside a house even bigger than his and somehow I know that this is where his family lives. The big 'Stone' in gold on the front entrance further confirms my suspicion.

Cato looks at me with a smirk. He probably notice how uncomfortable I am. "You're going to meet my parents." My heart quickens its pace at his answer. Damn. As if this day wasn't already filled with humiliation.

"Why?" Of course the answer is obvious. But why today? I am not ready, neither mentally nor physically. I don't look enough like one of them, and I definitely do not act like them.

"We'll be married in less than a month, so the sooner the better." Every word of his sentences is dripping with sarcasm and I know he is about as happy about this as I am.

I only huff at his words, neither in agreement or dissent. My feet only follow his steps over the white stone path towards the pale yellow house. In the sunlight, it almost looks gold. Fitting for a family that is seemingly as wealthy as his. I wonder if they are the most powerful family in this District. It wouldn't surprise me if they are.

The doors open at the hands of two avoxes. One on either side. They are dressed in the same way as the avox at his house. Our house, though I have done nothing to earn it.

If I thought Cato's house was fancy then I don't know how to describe this. Diamonds seem to be dribbling down from the ceiling. As the light travels through each gem, a beautiful light carrying all colors imaginable reflects over every surface in the room. I'm mesmerized. So, in fact, that I don't notice that three other people have entered the room.

"So this is District 12?" It's a female voice. She practically sings the sentence but sounds disgusted by what she referred me too. I let my gaze fall upon her form and almost let out a gasp. She's beautiful, more so than anyone I've ever seen. No wonder her son looks the way he does. Not that I'll ever admit that out loud. Her hair is blonde, almost to the point of white, and cascades down her back in perfect, contained curls. Her blue eyes stares at me with barely contained disgust. Her painted red lips in a sneer and her fair hands on either side of her blue clad hips. The men on either side of her pale in comparison. The older man, his father I presume, is a worse looking copy of Cato, and the younger man too. He looks older than Cato but not by much. And though he is handsome, he is not nearly as handsome as Cato.

"Though, I suppose, she hasn't killed herself like the last one so that must count for something." She sneers. I don't know if it's at me or Cato. I'm too shocked from her brutal words to really care. The man besides me says nothing. He only stares at his mother with strained eyes. His gaze is hard, like when I mention his first partner.

"The other one was from District One though. I would've preferred her had it not been for her disgusting preferences." The fist belonging to Cato ties, 'til the point where I can here his knuckles crack. I stare at him, and then at the woman in front of me, not understand one word of what she's saying. She must realize this by my dumbstruck expression.

"Cato seemingly can't get it right. There must be something wrong with him. His first bride turns out to be gay, and kills herself because she can't stand to be with him. And his second bride comes from District Twelve which doesn't need further explanation." She laughs but it lacks amusement. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever heard. Almost so that I forget what she said. Cato's first partner killed herself because she preferred women and never could be with one. This clarifies two things for me. First that the Capitol is once again more horrible than what I give them credit for. The Hunger Games May have ended but their tyranny haven't. It never will. The second thing I realize is that Cato wasn't the direct cause of her death, which brings me some hope that my future with him will not be as horrible as I expect. Though when he speaks, or looks at me in any way, that hope is crushed in an instant. He's already been horrible towards me. I don't see that changing anytime soon.

"Mother." His voice is stern. Had it not been thick pillows of snow and ice outside, his voice would've created it. "Don't." She only raises her eyebrow mockingly at his words, but does not say anything else. She cast one glance at me before walking away, not bothering to introduce herself. I suppose it doesn't matter. I doubt I'll ever interest with her anymore than absolutely necessary. The men that stood besides her does not look nearly as intimidating. The older introduces himself with a gruff voice as Caesar Stone before walking away swiftly. The other smiles crookedly. Unlike Cato, his smile seems genuine.

"I'm Adonis Stone, proud son of Caesar and Ethereal Stone." His voice is playful and unlike anything I expected coming from the Stone family. They seem about as emotional as their name. I shake his awaiting hesitantly. "I would love to stay and chat but someone in this family's gotta work." He's out as fast as he came and me and Cato are once again left alone.

"He was nice." I say after a few moments of awkward silence. He only hum in agreement before leading me down a bright corridor. It's filled with pictures. He stops at the end where a massive portrait of a young girl that looks like a copy of his mother, hangs.

"This was my sister. She died in the plague not even two days after she was infected. Barely stood a chance. The doctors said that her genes where weaker than the rest of this family. Her body shut down almost immediately and then there was nothing we could do but watch." I stare at him in horror. He refuses to meet my saddened, horrified gaze. "Though no one will be the same, I think my mother is the worst. She wasn't nearly as horrible before Louisa's death."

"I am so sorry." And I genuinely am. Cato turns to me and I meet his blue stare sympathetically. He nods once and the looks away.

"I am too." This is the first time he shows me a side of him that I actually like. It only saddens me that it is because of something so horrible. I don't know what I would've done if Prim had died, so I admire that he's even standing up. This is the first time I realize that Cato Stone isn't fully District Two monster.

We spend the rest of the day, which isn't many hours, wandering around the luxurious premises. He talks about his sister and I even tell him about Prim. When we arrive home, We go our separate ways and the next day, everything is back to how it was before. He only speaks to be through snide comments, and I reply equally. But something between us has changed. There is a mutual understanding, and respect that wasn't there before. When I look at him, I don't see as much of the typical 'District Two' as before and it frightens me. If he stops being a mean, unemotional machine I'm terrified I'll start to relate his beautiful outside to his inside. The though makes my blood run cold like nothing ever has before.


	5. Chapter 5 - Handless

Every time I'm outside of this house, among the beautiful people of this district, I tell myself I'm not ugly. That I am just as good as any of them. I convince myself of this each time I see a perfectly chiseled face that could only come from District 2, but most of the time it sounds like a lie even to my own ears. Every time I tell myself that I am enough, the devil on my should smiles smugly. She knows I don't believe my own lie. She likes it when I cry myself to sleep after a day filled with humiliation from Cato and from all other citizens. Simply being in the presence of Cato is a slap in the face. He is beautiful but every word he says is ugly. Since we visited his family, not a kind word has come from his luscious lips. It's a painful paradox. For a moment I worried I might have a hard time hating him, when he was kind to me. I never imagined myself being one of those girls that falls for looks, but his perfect features together with kindness is a force to be reckoned with. Luckily I doubt I'll have to fear falling in love with him.

I've never wanted to fall in love. It's been one of those things that I've wanted the least in my life. I'll admit that I've sometimes envied when Gale took a girl to the slag heap. My gaze have occasional stayed a few seconds too long on a happy couple completely indulged in their feelings. Back home, when Delly Cartwright would touch Peeta's shoulder affectionately, I would feel I tinge of jealousy. I'll admit that. But I've never wanted to actually fall handless in love, the way a bird falls when it's wings doesn't work, against their will.

The thought of someone loving me and having the power to crush me like a cookie in a clenched fist is, and always have been, the most terrifying thing I can imagine happening to myself. And it's not just the idea of love itself that terrifies me but also what comes after. When it's all over. Everything comes to an end eventually and that is what frightens me the most. That I might someday get stuck in the past like my mother, unable to cry so all I'm left to do is to stare out into the emptiness of my room, while my heart breaks into a million pieces.

With each day that passes in this district I feel less and less like myself. It feels like a continuous graph and I fear that I'll someday grow to become nothing more than a shell, like my mother. The graph is growing steady to. And fast. It's not been more than two weeks since I arrived here but I already feel myself disappearing. If Cato had known me before, he'd notice too. He didn't though, and doesn't talk to me other when he's humiliating me or saying something mean. It's not that I'm any kinder back, but he started all of this. One day, he seems to tire of my expressionless form and forces me outside on a walk. Had I only known what that walk would change, I would've never left my room.

"It's cold." I whine when we step outside to the white landscape. I know I must sound like a twelve year old but I truly do wish to be anywhere but here. It was never this cold back home.

"Do you ever stop being so depressing?" He asks me, rolling his eyes in the process. He's leading me down a swept path. It leads towards a small, frozen lake. It glimmers when the sun hits its surface.

I huff when I answer. "Not much to be happy about here." My voice is grim. I know I'm better off than many others but all I want is to be back home in Twelve with my family and Gale. I want to eat squirrel, not the fancy thing they eat here called chicken. I want to hunt. Oh how I wish I could hunt.

One of Cato's feet kicks a stray twig. It lands farther away than I thought possible from such a forceless blow. "You're eating more food that you've probably done in your entire life, wearing clothes more luxurious than anything you've ever worn and live in a house bigger that you could've ever dreamt of. How is it that you are this ungrateful?"

His question angers me. Beyond comprehension. "I miss my sister. I dedicated the bigger part of my life to her and now I'll never see her again. I miss my friend who lost the bigger part of his family and needed me to be there for him." I take a deep breath as to not scream at the blonde man in front of me. "No, I didn't live in luxury but I was happy. I used to hunt, and I don't care if you report me and have me hung for admitting it. Hunting is what made me happy. Being out in the woods made me feel alive. Here I feel trapped. The high buildings and beautiful people makes me feel like I'm in an inescapable cage. The expectations on me that you keep reminding me of is suffocating me." I look away from him. His gaze burns me.

"I'm dying here. I can't breathe." I say, finishing my little speech. He looks shocked and that's probably why he doesn't say anything. For a minute I'm afraid he'll just turn on his heel and call the peacekeepers. It's in his power for sure. He doesn't though.

"With what did you hunt?" He finally asks. It's several long moments after I've stopped talking that he asks me this. He doesn't comment on any of the other things I said. Of course he didn't.

"A bow." I answer, my gaze looking at the treetops far away in the distant. They are as white as everything else in this district but if I try hard enough I can imagine that they are the treetops of Twelve. Though the snow back home was never white for very long. Thick layers of coal always covered it as soon as it made contact with any part of the district. I almost miss even that.

I turn my gaze back to where Cato is, expecting him to still be there. He isn't though. I don't know how my hunter senses could've missed him walking away. It saddens me that even those might be dying because of this place. I realize that he's probably left to make a phone call to one of the higher ups. He's going to report me. This way he might get a new wife, likely one from another district than Twelve. If not, well then he might still be more content than with me being his wife. I sigh and sit down on the frozen bench by the lake. I tilt my head up towards the sun and close my eyes. If I'm going to die soon, I'd rather enjoy the last that I can of the sun.

I don't know for how long I sit there, bathing in the sunlight. It's slightly warmer than everything else in this forsaken district and I am thankful for it. When I here crunching footsteps behind me I don't open my eyes. Not at first. I only do so when something covers the sun in front of me. I expect it to be a white clad Peacekeeper ready to arrest me. It's not. Instead, Cato stands before me, holding a metal bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows in the other. I stare at him unbelievingly.

He hands them to me. "I wan't to see how good you are." His voice betrays nothing. "Just don't kill me with them." Had I not thought any better, I'd think he was joking. That could not be possible though. I've never heard him make a joke that isn't at my expense before.

I need no further convincing. My hands practically tears the weapon from his grasp. The second the bow and quiver makes contact with my frozen hands I gasp. I've never went this long without touching one and it's a welcome sensation. I string the bow immediately and try to find a target. It's hard though. I have yet to find any live creature in the massive garden and I doubt Cato wants me venturing outside of it carrying this weapon. I think back to what I used to do back in Twelve when it was snow and everything was frozen. Quickly, I grab a stone from the ground. It stings when it makes contact with my fingers but I don't let it go. I flick it towards a heap of bushes and a few trees far away from us. Four birds flee from the heap suddenly and each one finds themselves with an arrow through their eye not many seconds later. I turn to Cato with a satisfied smirk on my face.

"Dinner." I state. He smirks.

"Impressive, twelve, but no way in hell that I'm eating that." his gaze eyes the birds carcasses with disgust but he looks satisfied at my achievement. He then looks at the weapon in my hands. "You can keep that, just as long as you keep shooting birds and not me." I laugh, a real laugh, and nod. This seems to satisfy him.

Later that night we eat together. It's the first time we do. I've always eaten in his kitchen, while he's sat in the fancy dining room. Tonight though, he sits with me at the kitchen table. I don't question it. It's a welcome change because it lessens the loneliness I feel. Sometimes even his company is better than no one's.

The kitchen is darkly lit by only candles. It casts an eerie glow over Cato that sits to my right. We eat the food in mostly silence. It seems as though we have very little to say to one another when we're not offending each other. It's not strange that it is that way. I know nothing about him. He knows very little about me.

"You mentioned a friend earlier, that needed you to be there for him. What did you mean?" He asks me once I've finished my soup. My gaze meets his through the dark light. I don't like the feeling that settles in my stomach when it does.

I take a sip from my water before I answer. "My friend, Gale, lost his mother and brother to the plague. He's had a hard life, and though this was not the first loss he experienced, it took its toll on him. We found each other when our fathers died and we had to hunt to survive. We helped each other get through that pain and I was supposed to help him get through this one as well. Had it not been for this new arrangement, we would've probably married." Cato doesn't really react when I say that last part. I didn't expect him too.

"Were you sad that that didn't happen?" He asks finally. It's a question I don't expect from him and I am unprepared on how to answer it. Long moments pass before I do.

"I'm sad that I had to leave my best friend but I could never have given him the kind of affection one would expect from a marriage, so I supposed that I'm not." My grey eyes stare at Cato intensely. "I vowed that I would never love anyone like that."

"I did that too." He says. It peaks my interest. "I was supposed to become a Victor so I dedicated the bigger part of my life to training for the games." I can definitely tell, I think when I look at his muscled statue. "The rest of my time I spent learning about my parents company. I had no time for love then. And after the Games I was only ever going to marry the most beautiful woman so I could show her off. Just because I could." I'm taken back by his honesty even though I shouldn't. He has been nothing but since I arrived here. It still surprises me though, how he says this things like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"It seems like nothing turned out how we expected." I state the obvious because I don't know what else to say. He nods in reply.

"You are not what I would've chosen when it comes to a wife." Ouch. His words stings. "I would've chosen a bride more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine, but with a quiet mouth and no personality. It's easier not to get attached to someone like that." He explains when he notices my shocked, and honestly slightly pained, expression.

"I don't get what you're trying to convey." I say. I only know it hurts. For some unfathomable reason.

"What I am saying is that I wouldn't have chosen you as a wife. You have a personality and says what's on your mind. You look nothing like anyone from around here, which makes you special. It makes it so much harder to stay unattached to you." As he says it, another pain enters my body. It engulfs every cell of my being and refuses to leave. I want to tear my gaze away from his but I can't. It has me enchanted.

"Can't you go back to being mean to me?" I ask him quietly. Somehow, he is closer now than before. Much, much closer. I can feel his breath on my face when he answers.

"Why?" Hadn't I seen his lips move, I wouldn't have been sure that he had said anything.

"It makes it easier to remain unattached to you." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. They bind me to him suddenly. A thousand laps around us both with an unbreakable chain. I wish I could take them away when he leans in further. I wish I'd stayed in bed when he touches my lips with my own. But there is nothing I can do when he kisses me. I'm already falling handlessly when he does.


	6. Chapter 6 - Untouched

It's my first kiss. When he puts his lips on mine, it's the first time anyone does. It's a strange sensation, obviously unlike anything I've ever felt. I hate how much my body likes it, and responds to it. Though I have no idea what I'm doing, my lips move carefully against his. An unfamiliar warmth spreads throughout my entire body, starting at my lips and moving down to toes. I feel his hand move to my hair, which is down. I've been wearing it out of my braid more and more. As soon as it's there though, it's gone. Soon his lips follow, and when I open my eyes he sits farther away than before. He's not looking at me, just at everything but.

"I'm sorry." He says hastily.

"It's fine." But that's a lie. It's so much more than fine. My body is on fire. I want to command him to return, but I don't, and he doesn't.

"No, I shouldn't have." He says and as he does, a lump forms in my throat. I recall what he said just before he kissed me, about staying unattached. He doesn't want me, and now he regrets kissing me. When I don't answer him, he excuses himself and leaves hastily. I'm left, sitting quietly and alone with two bowls of soup, only one of which is empty. And it isn't his.

When I walk the quite long walk back to the room that I have occupied since arriving here, I see no sign of Cato anywhere. Just as I enter my room, I look further down the hall to the room I'm forbidden from entering. When I strain my eyes, I see that one of the doors are slightly open. I force myself not to go there. Somehow it's physically painful to not go after him. Leaving him alone after what just occurred mere moments ago feels wrong. But there is nothing I can do. I have no power here.

I go to sleep that night, with the thick covers dragged up to my cheeks in a bid to warm myself. I seek comfort in the weight of it, but it doesn't work. In the middle of the night I wake from a dream where I lose all of my teeth. I heard a lady at the Hob speak of what certain dreams symbolize, once. She said that when one dreams of losing teeth it often means that the person is losing control over a situation. I don't like how much sense that makes right now, in the middle of the night, while the shadows of the trees outside dance over my body.

No matter how much I try I cannot fall back asleep for the rest of the night and when the morning comes, and I enter the kitchen as part of my new daily routine of eating breakfast, I am prepared to meet Cato. I've practiced what I'll say to him. My mind has prepared me for every possible situation. So when he doesn't sit there at the head of the heavy oak table, disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach. I force it away.

One of the avoxes hands me a plate of egg and bacon. It is truly a luxury I should appreciate but I can't think of anything except of why he isn't here. It was Cato who kissed me. Now he's disappeared without a trace. Some part of me knows that I am being overdramatic. Not even a full day has passed since the kiss. A kiss which was probably only that to him. It should've been only that for me as well.

The day goes by slowly without a single trace of him anywhere. I spend my time shooting arrows at random targets in the back yard but even that becomes boring after a while. Though I must admit that I feel more alive today than yesterday. When I remember that I have one person to thank for that, I sourly put away my bow and go back inside. I spend the reminder of the day in the library, reading about the history of the Stone family's company. My mind seems to be a magnet to all 'Stone' things today. My gaze doesn't life from the pages until I hear the front door slam shut and the shuffling of boots inside. It's a welcome sound, not only because I know it's Cato but because the avoxes are like ghosts. They walk around the premises without a sound.

I put the book back on the shelf and head out of the library just as he passes me in the corridor. He doesn't even lift his gaze when he greets me.

"Oh, hey." Is all he says before he continues down the hall. He enters the room to the master bedroom and closes it soon after. That is the last I see of him that day and I go to bed with the same anxious feeling that I had yesterday, only today that feeling is stronger. I dream of losing my teeth this night.

At the end of the week Cato announces that we're dining with his family that night. My voice doesn't allow more than a simple 'okey' to escape the heavy prison that is my vocal cords. When he looks me in the eyes, I look back to prove to him that I am not affected by what the relation between us has come to. Ironic, the devil on my should whispers. I cannot prove myself innocent of something I am guilty. I imagine the warm sprays of water from the shower wash away the devil. It doesn't.

I dress my body in one of the few dresses I bought what feels like a very long time ago. It's emerald green, with slightly loose sleeves that stop just below my elbows and a belt at the waist. It's frustrating that I still don't look as beautiful as I'd like. I was never one to care about silly things like that but I never had time to before. Since arriving here I've had way more time than I'd like. When I think of that the frustration grows deeper. It imbeds in the pit of my stomach where a week of anxiety already lays. I groan out loud at my stupid thoughts but can't help the tears that escape. The fact that I'm crying makes me cry harder because this place is turning me to someone I'm not. I am losing everything that makes me, me. The restlessness this places forces on me makes me focus on something as stupid as boys. Or one boy. A part of me argues that it isn't stupid though. This boy, or man, will play the biggest part in my life for the years to come. It isn't stupid.

Cato finds me at some point, while I'm drying my tears on the hem of my dress. I try to look away but he sits down next to me on the bed. I huff.

"Why are you crying." When he asks me, he sounds genuine. I don't like it. Not how it makes me feel. Hopeful.

"I don't know." I lie. Hopefully he'll let it go.

"It'll be okey you know." He says. I stare at him questioningly. "It's only one week until were married and after that night, we can go back to living the way we do know." He thinks I want this, the way we are now. That I am crying because we'll have to kiss again. He doesn't know that his kiss is what I yearn for. I don't tell him otherwise. My only response is a 'hum' in agreement and at this he lays an arm around my shoulder and squeezes comfortingly. It feels sinfully right and I bask in the fact that he touches me, but when we arrive at his family's house later that night and he squeezes his brother's shoulder, and his two friend's shoulders in the same manner, I have to force my gaze to the floor. It is painfully obvious that when he touches me it means something different for me than it does for him. Damn it.

The dinner is nice. We eat something that probably tastes amazing. I can't really tell. I chew, swallow and repeat because I have to. No one speaks to me for most of it, for which I am thankful. The only time someone does is when Ethereal Stone makes a snide comment about the women of Twelve not knowing what a wedding dress is. We do of course know that, most of us just can't afford one. She makes it perfectly clear that I'll wear one to my wedding to her son next week. Though I am not, by her opinion, anything like a beauty from Two, I'll have to make do. I almost snort when she tells me this. There isn't really anything she can do about me know. I am here to stay it seems. I smile a little when I realizes that it must anger her a lot that her future grandchildren will be half breeds from Twelve. Soon after I think this I remember what will have to happen in order to have a child. My smile fades.

The ride back to Cato's house is uneventful. He seems to be in a good mood since he's talking to me, but I barely answers. I have decided that what he said is for the best. We should avoid one another. I've never wanted love and I'll not start wanting it now. I _can't_ want it. So I turn my back to him, both literally and figuratively. And through the entire upcoming week, I do the same. Not that he seem to mind or even notice. And when the Wedding day arrives things go on about in a mechanical fashion.

I'd always imagined that if I did get married it would be to Gale and it would be a small wedding party with only our two families. We'd have a toasting then go to bed early like all miners do. I never imagines that I'd stand in a traditional District 2 wedding gown among hundreds of others, reciting vows from a cue card given by the Capitol. Gale and I are getting married on the same day, but not to each other. The fact does not upset my as much as it should.

I never pictured myself here, in front of the most beautiful man I have ever seen, silently wishing he'd tell me that he is happy that it's me that's standing here. It feels like I'm betraying my nature by yearning for the affection of another. Yet I cannot help it. I find myself unable to look away from his gaze when he recites the same vows.

Every couple are obliged to sign the wedding contracts immediately after the ceremony. After that, we are free to do whatever we'd like. Until tonight that is. I am not free though. I'll never be free again. Not even my name is my own anymore. Gone is Katniss Everdeen and now is only Katniss Stone. I have no idea who Katniss Stone is.

The wedding party belongs to Katniss and Cato Stone. I attend but feel more like an onlooker than the bride. Somehow I think that is for the best because I don't notice as many hateful stares. Time seems to pass in a blur. My body sits next to Cato's. We eat, we drink and we laugh. But none of the times I'm fully there. Everything is easier that way. Soon, way too soon, comes a time where I can no longer pretend to be anywhere else.

When the day comes to an end and everyone has left, all papers are signed and there is absolutely nothing else to do, we stand in silence in the bedroom that is no longer just his. It's easier to focus on the room rather than him. How the curtains from all three floor to ceiling windows seem to loom over me in a horrifying fashion. I find much easier to focus on how all furnish in this room is a cream white, and how that is a stark contrast to the dark walls. Somehow, I relate to that contrast.

"Katniss." It's the first time he says my name if you count out the time when we first met. I hate how my body reacts to the way the word falls from his lips. Lucious lips that are normally everything I want but cannot have. Tonight I'll have them though. Why is it that I feel such anxiety at the mere thought then?

I meet his gaze after a while. He is closer now. My neck strains when I look at him. My eyes says the things I cannot say. The ask the things I don't dare to ask. Sometimes I wish I could tell people things without having to speak them. I wish Cato knew of how I felt about this evening, about this house and about this situation. It's impossible, but I wish he knew what I don't. About how I feel.

"Cato." I say after a while. It's an answer that fall from my lips much later than when he said my name. He doesn't seem to mind. He only steps closer 'til I feel his entire body pressed against mine. He leans in slowly and my heart stops in the process. When he puts his lips back on mine, it feels as if they never left. I relish in the kiss because for two weeks it's everything I have yearned for. Things moves further than the kiss quickly though. His hands are at the zipper of my white gown only seconds after he started kissing me. I feel it fall to the floor too quickly. Suddenly I'm left standing in the way too big room in nothing but the uncomfortable underwear I was told one had to wear on a wedding night. The kissing stops for moment. With cheeks red from the embarrassment of being more naked than I have ever been in front of anyone, I look at the man of the hour. The gaze he's looking at me with is hooded. He breaks our gaze quickly and turns me around so my back is against him and my hand holding onto one of the four bed posters. An insecure part of me can't help but wonder if it's because he doesn't want to look at me. Maybe he's imagining someone else. I rid myself of that thought when his hand travels down my body. It's hard to focus on anything but the way it feels. No one has ever touched me where he touches me. It's a strange sensation, having his lips on my neck and his hands, one just below my breast and the other between my legs. The way he holds me locks me in place but I never want to leave. Some part of me finds what he's doing slightly discomfortable but I somehow like it at the same time.

My head falls back on his shoulder and it's not too long after I feel something starting to build up in my stomach. He stops before it can grow into something bigger though. The whine I make is almost inaudible but he hears it.

"Impatient, are we?" His voice is husky. I don't bother answering. Instead I turn around and kiss him. At the same time my hands start unbuttoning his dress shirt. It falls from his sculptured body just as he pushes me into the fluffy mattress on the big bed. He starts to kiss me again immediately. I love how warms me up, from the outside and in. The kiss warms me up in a way a thick coat or a fluffy blanket ever could and it's a warmth I've been lacking my entire life.

Suddenly his face is between my leg. I hadn't even noticed that he took off my last piece of underwear. There isn't time to reflect on how it feels to be bare in front of someone for the first time because he starts to kiss me. It feels good. Not at first, but after a while when he finds the right spot. I feel that same buildable sensation then, only stronger. This time he doesn't stop. Not until that sensation makes me moan out loud. I'm embarrassed by the sound I make but have little time to worry about it. Soon, way to soon, Cato is as naked as me, and is hovering above me. I know what comes next but am not prepared for the pain I feel even from the start.

"Katniss, just look at me." He says this so kindly that I wouldn't have believed it came from him had I not felt him say it. I do as he says but the pain I feel from staring in to his gaze is almost as painful as the one I feel in my lower body. They are two different kinds, but one of them does not erase the other. I try to cancel them both out by bringing him closer, though I am not sure how much closer I can come. One of my arms rests on his back and the other on his neck. I kiss him forcefully as I try to adjust to the sensation of him inside me. It feels almost like when I fell out of a tree when I was younger. It's a similar kind of suction in the stomach. Not entirely unpleasant but not exactly nice either. I like the way he touches me though. His hands in my inwoven in my hair, his lips on my lips, my neck and my breasts. I love how loved I feel by his touch in this moment. But when he finishes inside of me, and later rolls over and eventually falls asleep with his back towards me I don't feel any of what I felt earlier. I try to cling to it so I reminisce how it feels to be clutched in his grip. But I feel untouched by his touch, unworthy of his worth, unloved by his love. When the darkness comes around that night, surrounding me like a thick, suffocating blanket I wonder if there is anything more painful. If there truly exists any pain greater than this.


	7. Chapter 7 - Lovesick

**A/N: This chapter is slightly shorter than the others because I didn't really know in which direction to take this story. I appreciate all the feedback and if you have any suggestions, they are warmly welcome.**

feel like a lovesick puppy. They way my pathetic mind keeps me distracted with thoughts of him, and what he did to me. My body wants that again. It is painfully obvious that I crave him by the way I involuntarily turn towards him when he's around, immediately notice him when he enters the room and always try, but fail, to break my gaze that is constantly upon him. I blame my new fascination on the fact that I have nothing else to do. Sometimes I shoot in the backyard but more often than not, it's way too cold to stay outside even for more than a few minutes. Even with my cashmere coat. I was told that was the material that feels like wool only softer. I remember how my stupid cheeks blushed from embarrassment for not knowing when Cato told me. I shouldn't, of course, be embarrassed by such a vain thing. But I fear time and time again that this place is turning me into someone I am not. In certain moments of weakness I think that is for the best. That if I change into someone more like the people of this District then maybe less people will stare at me and judge me. Though most of the time I know this to be a lie. I'll always be from Twelve. Nothing can change we're I was born.

It has been two moons since our wedding, and since he last touched me. Since that night we've sleep in the same bed but he lays at such a distance from me that I sometimes have to smell myself to confirm that it isn't that. One could fit three other people between us when we sleep. I never move towards him either because I do not want to bother him. I simply lay on my side of the bed and watch as the sky grows darker 'til it reaches its turning point and goes back to growing increasingly lighter. Most nights I dream of another life where I'm not laying in bed next to a person I'd never in my wildest dreams imagine I'd crave. On more than one occasion I dream of participating in the games. It's always a vivid dream and it feels as if I can touch it if I just reach my hand out. The dream is always the same, me participating in the games with someone I know as my district partner. Almost always Gale but sometimes it's Peeta. Cato is there too, and he always kills me. How I die differs but the outcome is the same. I wake up in cold sweat most nights.

I used to have nightmares back in Twelve too but not like this. These dreams are heart wrenching and make me terrified of falling asleep. Each time I open my eyes to the suffocating darkness of the bedroom Cato lays sleeping besides me. Either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care.

I've noticed that I lately can't really eat that much. My appetite is lacking and I despise myself for it. Here I sit with more food than I could ever eat while the people I know starve, and I can't force it past my throat. Each bite feels like cardboard, no matter how good it actually is. As soon as I swallow, it wants to make its way back up. Once or twice it actually has. Cato was there every time, and he always watched me with a guarded expression. Just as he is now when we're eating dinner. It's probably something delicious but I can't really tell.

We don't speak. We never really do engage in any conversation other when it's about practicalities. What to eat or if I want to come with him to his parents. I never want to but I always do anyways. Anywhere he goes my body wants to follow. My mind doesn't have any say.

Today is one of those days where I can't force the food down because it won't stay down. They way Cato keeps regarding me, looking at me carefully as if studying me make me want to eat anyways. If the only time he's looking at me is when I can't eat then I'll eat and spare him the trouble of resting his gaze on me. As soon as I swallow though, I have to run to the sink to empty my stomach. There was no time to run all the way to the nearest bathroom. It tastes horrible in my mouth and makes me puke further. When there is nothing left to puke, I stand there hunched over the sink for what feels like eternity. Then I feel his hand on my back, like a burning piece of coal pressed into my skin. It hurts like burning coal would've but the pain isn't physical. I turn my gaze to him, questioning why he touches me now but not any night after our wedding.

"Katniss," he starts. His gaze moves over my face and down my body. He regards me still. I furrow my brows. Why? "Are you pregnant?" The world collapses. Everything around me stops and I simply stare. My heart goes from stopping almost completely to beating increasingly faster until its pace is as quick as a hummingbird's wings. I look at his mockingly handsome face with confusion and horror. It's a thought that haven't even crossed my mind since that first night. We only ever did lay together once. My mother told me once that most people don't become pregnant the first time. Often it takes many tries. Tries we haven't tried.

"I don't think so. We've only," I find it hard to formulate the word and my face is crimson now that I have to say it in front of him, "had sex once."

A small part of him looks at me with minimal amusement but most of him just looks worried. "Once is enough." There are a lot of different meanings in that one sentence. Once is enough for me to become this. Something unrecognized to the old Katniss of Twelve. Once is enough for me to languish for him. Everything that is him. Once is enough for me to become pregnant...

"I can't." My eyes flicker back and forth between him and different surfaces in the room. I start to shake my head in denial as if I do, it'll erase the maybe baby in my stomach. "I can't."

He removes the hand on my back. "Well you really don't have a choice." His voice is cold and uncaring. It brings goosebumps to my arms.

"This is your fault." I know it makes no sense but I have to blame it on someone. His response surprise me though.

"I know. We had to once but I didn't think it would happen that one time and after that I've stayed away from you to avoid...this." He gestures with his hand to my stomach but the way he does it makes it look like he gestures to the space between us as well. I can't help the spark hope that builds up in the dark pit of my stomach.

"Was that the only reason you stayed away?" The question is out before I can even stop it. He breaks out gaze and I wish I hadn't asked it.

"No." I want to run out of the room. I curse my lame hope. "I told you I couldn't become attached. It's not in my nature and not something I know how to handle. I've been told that attachment is weakness and that there is nothing worse than weakness." I didn't expect him to continue. Not did I expect this honesty. I knew some of this but not all. He never speaks of his training but I suspect that is where he was taught this.

"And yet, once was enough for me." He says. Enough for attachment, I add silently. I want to smile because his words are everything I've wanted to hear. Yet he looks at me in a way that stops me from saying anything. He doesn't want to be attached to me even if he is. I don't say anything, and when I at some point reach my hand out to touch him he moves so I can't reach.

"I need time to think." He says before he leaves. I want to scream at him that he's had more time than he could possibly need. I want to scream that I don't care what he needs because I need him. Really I just need anyone because I am terrified. If I am pregnant, I'll need him more than anyone. But I don't. I stay silent, like I always do and when I see my reflection in the kitchen window, I glare silently at that as well.

He doesn't look at me when I go to bed. He's already been here for some time I suspect but I've been dreading this moment when I have to lie next to him, so close yet so far away.

I am silent for many moments but at some point, when the shadows outside have moved considerably over the room I can't take it any longer. I don't know if he's fallen asleep when I speak. Some part of me hope he has.

"I can't do this on my own. I never wanted children, never wanted a husband. Now I maybe have both, yet I am all alone." At some point my hand has moved to my stomach, that I pray is empty but most likely isn't.

I was never a great talker. Not back home, and not here. But Cato speaks even less than me and forces me to utter my feelings. I'm vocal in a way I've never been before. I still don't consider myself to be any good at it.

"I don't want to be alone but you make me feel as if I am. I was forced into this as much as you were." It feels like I'm talking to myself as much as to him. Especially when he says nothing. Not at first at least.

"Okey." It's all he says but because he turns around and eventually, after what feels like a very long time, lays an arm around me so my back is flush against his chest, I don't care that he doesn't say anything else.

When I wake in the middle of the night from my usual nightmare his arm is still around me. This time he acknowledges it.

"What is it?" He asks. His voice is groggy from sleep.

My voice is barely above a whisper when I answer. "Nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I'm surprise by his question but my answer is definite. I've talked more today about myself and my feelings than I've done in my entire life. I think that is enough. Besides, I doubt he'd react good to me telling him I dreamt about him killing me.

"No." I say. He nods against me.

"Then you should probably sleep again." He says but I can't really take the answer seriously since is such a strange statement. I snort.

"Well yeah..." I agree. "But it's not that easy. They feel so vivid."

"Thought you didn't want to talk about it." He states. His breath is warm on my neck and gives me goosebumps.

"I don't." He snorts.

"So why are you?" He asks but I don't want to answer. I just don't want to fall asleep because I'm afraid he'll go back to ignoring me tomorrow. I turn to face him.

"I don't know." I say and make eye contact with him through the darkness. He looks more awake now than he sounded moments ago. He seems to contemplate something.

"So if you don't want to go back to sleep, nor want to talk about your dream, what do you want to do?" It's a question that has a million answers. I want to lay here in silence and enjoy his presence. I want to talk and get to know him better. I want what I've only gotten once before.

"Can you kiss me?" It sounds silly. I hate how pathetic I sound. It doesn't matter though because he answers my question with the kiss I've craved for for far too long. And it's a bliss. When he starts to move away, I put my arm on his neck. "Please."

He seems to contemplate something, but then he kisses me again and I don't pay that much thought. The only thing I think of is him and later, that this night is better than our wedding night.

That morning I feel the urge to shoot. It's warmer now than it was when I arrived and the sun stays on the sky longer. I've not felt like shooting for some time but today there is a new life within me. I have no doubt that some of it is thanks to last night. I blush when I think of what he did to me and how loud I was at some point. I found it so embarrassing that I couldn't really look him in the eye during breakfast. We'll that, and because I was puking half the time.

The arrow lands right in the bullseye and I find the target increasingly tiresome. I want a challenge. There is no doubt in my mind that Cato's training room would have more challenging targets but I'm not allowed in there. I know I should be thankful that I'm even out here shooting but it's not always enough. I don't have time to ponder that though any further because creaking footsteps in the snow disturbs my inner monologue. I turn towards the sound to find Cato walking towards me. I smile, if one could even call it a smile. It's a smile to me. He doesn't smile back but I didn't expect him to. I've noticed that he very rarely does. He stops in front of me, closer than he would've yesterday. He doesn't touch me but I didn't expect that either. I've found that Cato is e very practical man and rarely does something that isn't. And touching me now, just for the sake of it, is probably not something that is in his nature. Still, I want him to. I step a tiny bit closer. He looks grim but not at me.

"What is it?" I ask, my brows furrowing in the process. He doesn't answer for a long time.

"We've been invited to a ball." He starts. If that is what he looks so grim about, I can't understand why. "The Snow ball." Oh. I suddenly feel like throwing up again.

We're going to the Capitol.


	8. Chapter 8 - Loyalties

The change in him is remarkable. The person that stepped on the train to the Capitol is not the person that exits. His grim, unhappy expression becomes one of fake satisfaction once he steps off the train. I know it's fake because he never smiles, but he's smiling now. He's also holding my hand, something he's never done before. It's not that things between us have gone back to what they were. They haven't. Quite the opposite in fact. But he's not a person that touches just for the sake of it. Not very often at least. Most of the time that he does, it's in the safety of our bedroom where no one can see. Where he touches me because he wants to not because he has to. Like now. It's a farce. A facade for the Capitol. I don't now why because Cato has said next to nothing about this visit. Though I'd prefer to know more, I know better than to ask. He's a practical man and he would tell me if I needed to know. A rebellious piece of me wants to ask anyways, just to spite him.

I'm a little annoyed with him. He's been rude since he told me about this visit. I suspect it's because of stress since I've seen him run around the house more than ever. He didn't even let me pack myself since I apparently didn't know what to wear in the Capitol. He said it in a much meaner fashion though. I didn't speak to him for the rest of the day and when he reached for me that same night, I moved further away. His way of apologizing to me was by adding moving targets to the backyard for me to shoot at. He'd never apologize with words. I am almost certain of it.

Cato and I weren't the only ones invited. His entire family was of course as well. On the way there, it's probably the only time I've ever seen Ethereal with real happiness displayed on her face. I don't like her at all, and she's made it very clear that she doesn't like me either. Dislike is probably not even a strong enough word. The difference in how she treats me and Cato's brothers wife, Lysa, is enormous. Lysa is from One, and a typically beauty. She'd be a better fit for Cato than his brother if one were to go by looks alone. I hate that I am sometimes jealous of her when she speaks to Cato. Nothing could ever happen but the thought that he'd maybe want her instead, if he had a choice, angers me. I try to blame it on hormones now that I am certain that I am pregnant, and some of it probably is, but most is just me. He found it amusing when he noticed that I was jealous and started to provoke me further. I was perfectly aware of what he was doing but it didn't stop me from reacting. When we went to bed that night, it was only the third time we laid together. It was perfectly clear then who he belonged to.

Neither of us had to tell his family that I was pregnant. It was announced on the board the second the test I took at the doctor's office showed positive. The board is a channel that is on twenty four hours, seven days a week. It televises the number people currently alive in Panem and in each District. It shows the number of children born each day and the number of women currently pregnant. Each time a new woman becomes pregnant she is shown on the screen. One would think that it would be impossible to show all women that become pregnant but it isn't. There are so few of us left since the Plague that it is very possible. I remember crying that day. Knowing that my family back in Twelve could see that and know something like that without me speaking to them hurt. Of course the damned hormones made everything worse. They've made me into an emotional monster. I cry, and then I become furious and at times, horny. Cato only appreciates the late of the three. It's the only one he knows how to handle. When I cry he becomes uncomfortable, not used to emotions and caring and when I'm angry I provoke him which makes him equally angry. When I'm horny, well, let's just say that neither of us complains then.

But I am nothing of those three now. All I am is afraid. Suddenly I'm no longer in Two, which I find – I can't believe I'm thinking this – comforting compared to the circus surrounding me now. Everywhere I look I'm assaulted by colors I didn't even know existed. The people around me are dressed more ridiculous than any television could do justice. They walk around carefree and laughing. Bellies full and money in their pockets. The citizens of the Capitol are the only ones that aren't required to partner with another and have "genetically superior babies". Of course they look as happy as they do. They were no exception to the Plague. Them being rich made no difference. It is noticeable though that here, they have tried to hide all evidence of the death that plagued Panem for a year. To those who look though, there is evidence of it left. The streets that always looked crowded on the tv are now spacious, some of the shops on the street are "closed until further notice", some houses stand empty, unable to be filled by the to small population. I think of all the people from the District that could fit here. How unfair it is that they aren't ever going to just because of where they were born. It's even a miracle that I am allowed here. Though I suppose I am an official citizen of two and the wife of a very wealthy and Panem loyal man.

"Keep close and stay quiet." Cato whispers in my ear, breaking me out of my thoughts. The words are rushed in such a way that I almost don't catch them. He takes my hand to reinforce his words and suddenly I'm in the massive crowd of colors and perfume. Unable to register anything but Cato's decided hand around my own, I cling to it. My knuckles turn white from how hard I grip him because of the feat that I may be lost in this nightmarish crowd. Though I doubt I'd be gone for very long. I look nothing like any of them. I'm a black sheep here, as much as I am in Two.

Before long, we're in a long car which fits all of my travel companions. Companions is a word I use very ironically. The only one I can stand other than Cato is his brother. Sometimes I like him more than Cato.

"You'll have to change the second you get to the hotel, Katniss. It's not appropriate for you to look like that in a place like this." It's Ethereal. It's always her. I give her my hardest glare but I doubt she even notice, too uncaring to care about anything but herself. My changing is to not embarrass her further. Me being from Twelve is embarrassment enough.

"Mother, that's enough." Cato's words shock me. He's never said anything against his mother in the defence of me. Later, when we've arrived at the exclusive accommodations where we're staying, I realize that I shouldn't have been surprised because he never did defend me. Not really. He only wanted to stop an argument from taking place. I realize this when he tells me that his mother is right. I should change.

"You are unbelievable. I'm not going to change, I'm staying here. You go on enjoy the restaurant without the district twelve trash." I retort to his remark. I can tell he feels guilty the second I say it, but he doesn't apologize. Cato Stone never apologizes. He moves closer to touch me, but I move away before he can. This seems to resolve any guilt he felt and he is quick to leave the room after that. He always flees when I tell him anything that reminds him that he's human. Every time my words provoke emotions in him that he was never taught to handle, he flees. And that person should be me. I should be the one running away, turning my back and shutting my mouth. His actions should be mine but even that he has taken from me. I know it isn't right, but I blame him. He's taken my independence, my life, my virtue and my body: Everything that used to be mine is now his and even how I imagine I'd act if this was another life, where he and I was just another couple in love, he has stolen. It wasn't really he who stole all of this, I know that. But I can't lash out at the Capitol.

I am conflicted. My emotions is tearing me apart and I can't concentrate. Half of me hates him, half of me loves him. I don't want him to touch me but I can't breathe without his touch. I can't stand his gaze but I can't live without his eyes on me. Every part of me that is Twelve is telling me to never speak to him again but every part that isn't, every part that has left twelve and become something else tells me to embrace him and the feelings him gives me. The part of him that lives inside of me binds me to him, forcing me to be his, no matter what. And so I know I will never truly give him up, because he has forced me to be his forever when he planted his seed in me. That doesn't mean I will make it easy on him.

I feel him rather than hear him when I lay in bed in total darkness, pretending to be asleep. The city outside I found to bright so I had to cover all windows. It is almost frightening how silent he can be. Had we been in the Games, I imagine only his feet could compete against mine as far as silence goes. His weight makes me turn involuntarily towards him. I fight against it but soon find his chest presses against me back anyways. Like it always is when we sleep. I want to tell him how it hurts when he says the things he says but I know he will never change. He will never be anything but honest. I want to tell him that I'd like him to apologize with his voice but he will never do that. Instead I turn towards him and cry into his chest, creating a wet spot on his ivory skin. He says nothing but he hugs me, and doesn't let go 'til I fall asleep. I know that things will never be any different from this between us. Many times I wish it was.

The day of the Snow Ball is the next day. Though we were invited, the Capitol's hospitality is limited and we will be leaving directly after the Ball tonight. No way they'd want district citizens overstaying their welcome. Even if those citizens happens to be elite such as the Stone family. Not that I mind leaving this place at all. It gives me all sorts of creeps and makes the hairs on my arms stand straight up.

I want to like the dress I'm wearing but I don't. Yet again a reminder of the things I may never truly be. It is beautiful. Truly a magnificent piece made by someone named Cinna. Why he would make me something like this I do not know, and I wish I could like it but the dress is wearing me, not the other way around. A midnight blue dress, covered in gems. It looks like the clearest of night sky on a summer night. I have never seen a sky this clear in Twelve because of all the dust and have yet to experience a summer in Two, but I doubt anything can ever measure with this. But I don't like it. Cinna seems to notice this and I immediately feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, it's beautiful. It's just..." I don't finish the sentence but he looks at me with green eyes filled with understanding. His hands are on each of my arms, holding me in a comforting grasp. I've never felt this comfort with Cato and I doubt I ever will.

"It's not you." He finishes the sentence I didn't know how to but he's right. "I had another dress in mind but it was not very...appropriate for your new identity." I look at him with question, having no idea what he means. He leans in and for a second I'm terrified he'll kiss me but he just leans into my ear and whispers: "Not very smart to provoke Snow with fire on such a televised occasion. This dress is less Twelve, more Two. Shows where your loyalties lie."

My loyalties. I huff. The past year I haven't even thought of such a thing as that. My loyalties used to be to me and my family alone. And Gale of course. If one wanted the short, quick answer, that'd be my answer now as well. I'm doubtful that I'll ever stop being loyal to those but now things have shifted so yet another person is added to the list of people I'm loyal to. Cato. I've become unwillingly loyal to a person that is to the highest remark loyal to the Capitol. This in turn makes me loyal to the Capitol. I could never do anything against them without hurting or going against Cato, which I can't. A dreadful standstill where I can do nothing. In a few months I'll be even more bound to Cato and to District Two. A babe born from a suppressing system, and a fucked up couple, will bind me a thousand laps around Cato and the world I live in now.

"This dress is beautiful, and better I am sure." I hope my message is received. I'll wear this dress willingly, because the alternative would provoke a battle I am not sure which side I'm on. Cinna looks at me with a calculating gaze.

"Of course." He says but his smile, though genuine, seems strained and his gaze slightly disappointed. I don't have any time to ponder on why because he changes the subject suddenly, hastily. "Congratulations on the pregnancy."

"Thank you." I say but my voice lacks the enthusiasm of the words. Happiness is not what I feel when I think of the seed in my belly. A child was never anything I wanted and I thought I'd have time to get used to the idea that I'd some day have to. Now it'll happen much sooner than I anticipated and I am not ready nor happy about it. Cato seems indifferent, like he does with all other things. Once, when he thought I'd fallen asleep, he put his hand on my stomach for a moment. In that moment when he acknowledged the babe that is half his I remember feeling safe. As though maybe everything might be alright. I wanted to relish in the moment forever and forget the rest of the world. Let the rest of the world wait because moments never do. But his hand had been gone as fast as it was there and the feeling I felt along with it.

Seeming to notice my discomfort, Cinna says nothing else. He does the last on my hair and makeup, and then I'm done. Just as I am, Cato comes to get me. Though I may not like the dress, the look on Cato's face almost makes me reconsider my opinion. With his lips slightly parted and eyes widened a fraction in shock, I relish in the idea that it is me that has caused this reaction from him. I have seen him like this only once and that was on our wedding night but I was way to nervous then to enjoy it. I'm not now.

"We need to go now." He says and reaches for me. He links his arm with mine and leads me away. I didn't expect any vocal appreciation of my look, I know I'd never get one.

He leads me to a car. This one is a smaller version of the one we rode in yesterday but this time it is only him and me. I thank whatever force is out there for it. I don't think I could stand one of Ethereal's comments right now. Cato says nothing as we drive away towards the president's mansion but his hand lays resting against mine, barely touching yet there all the same.

The mansion is everything I expected yet I could never have imagined the grandeur of it even if I tried. Like everything else in the Capitol, it is very colorful. It almost looks like a house made out of that candy I could never afford in Twelve. All around me people dance and I am yet again thankful for Cato's steady arm. I cling to it as if it where my lifeline as we walk through the mansion to the ballroom. His family is already there and as expected, they all look as if they were born for this life. The probably were. More food than I have ever seen covers every table surface in the room. The dance floor is reflective which makes me thankful that I am wearing a floor length dress. I see many women that aren't but should've. They don't seem the least bit bothered with it themselves though.

"Do you want to dance?" It's Cato who asks me. I am a bit surprised by it though I supposed I shouldn't be.

"Do I have to?" I whine but I already know the answer. Of course I do. Everyone does. His only answer is a nod. "I'm not very good."

"That doesn't matter. I am." He says to which I let out an uncharacteristic giggle. I want to hit myself on the head for the sound. He lifts his eyebrows in a quiet question.

"Is there something you aren't good at?" I ask jokingly. His answer is very expected.

"No." He says, smirking as he does. A small part of me argues silently that yes, it is. But nothing will ever change that so I bury the voice deep inside, somewhere even I will forget it exists. My only reply is a small smile as he leads me into the dance everyone around us already engages in. It's a blissful moment I, like many other moments, never wanna leave. I don't really care that the people around us are dressed in feathers and gems, that the food is made from slave labour or that the president is somewhere around. Never have I truly cared less about such, at most times, important things. All I care about right now is how to feels to be swayed around by the man in my arms. How perfectly my head rests on his chest, barely reaching his shoulder. I want to stay, but I can't. Ironically my kicked out of my moment by my own bladder. I excuse myself quietly but before I leave Cato leans down to whisper something in my ear.

"Don't get lost." He says and at first I think he's jesting but his tone lacks humor. I wonder why he keeps insisting I stay by him at all times but ponder on I no further because I have almost run towards the bathroom. Ironically, I get lost on my way back. I roam the corridors, each one darker than the next. When I'm about to turn around from the path I am on, I see lights further ahead and smile in relief. Only, when I get there I see that it isn't the ballroom on the other side of the slightly opened double doors. I glance inside and see a room, much like the one the Gamemakers used to sit in when the Games were still an ongoing thing. At first I think it's empty but then I hear hushed voices. They sound stressed, and one familiar voice sounds angry. I can't place the voice but I can hear what he says.

"I thought I made myself clear, buy maybe I wasn't clear enough." He says.

"Yes, of course, but uh, the rebels got their hands on the documents somehow." Rebels? My mind is swirling with confusion at the conversation I shouldn't be hearing.

"But the rebels are all dead now, are they not? Our loyal dogs in Two took care of that." Do they mean…? I don't dare to do the math but my gut tells me what I don't want to know.

"Of course mr. President, but if anyone finds out about the plague..." He isn't allowed to continue because a gunshot rings out, echoing trough the hallway. My body reacts before my mind can. I run as fast as I can with a dress like this on and manage to find my way back this time. As I'm about to enter the ballroom, and get back to Cato, the hairs on my neck suddenly stand straight up.

"Mrs. Stone," It's that voice. President Snow's voice. "How lovely finally meet the wife of the remarkable Cato Stone." His tone clashes with his words, and I doubt he means any of it.

"Mr. President." I say, curtsying as low as I can simultaneously. It would probably be proper to say something else, but I don't know what and I am terrified to say the wrong thing. A dangerous thing. Every cell of my being is praying that he didn't notice me earlier. Then I, and the babe inside of me, is as good as dead. I may not know much about this world, but I do know that.

"Let me escort you back to your husband, wouldn't want you getting lost." He says and extends his arm. My heart jumps to my throat but when I look into his eyes, he shows no sign of knowing anything about my earlier adventure.

"Of course." My body screams when I let him guide me back to Cato, but I don't let go. As much as I hate Snow, I don't want to anger him in anyway. When Cato enters my sight I have never been more relived. He does not look equally relived when he sees me and my company.

"Mr. Stone," Snow's voice carries the same fake niceness. I am suddenly struck with the memory of Snow talking about 'District Two dogs'. I am almost certain he spoke of The Stone's. Who else has that kind of power there?

The question of loyalty is suddenly more relevant than ever before and I find myself questioning everything that used to be me when I take Cato's arm. I used to be loyal to my family and Gale. I used to be loyal to District Twelve. I realize now that my clashing loyalties aren't possible. My pregnancy has bound me to Cato and made me unwillingly loyal to Two. They most likely disposed of the so-called rebels and I am loyal to them. Loyal to murderers.


End file.
